


a pal and a cofidant

by swwf17



Series: We Should Come with a Warning [7]
Category: Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: CW: alcohol, Gen, Post Episode 4x11, character injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-12
Updated: 2019-02-12
Packaged: 2019-10-27 02:35:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17758163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/swwf17/pseuds/swwf17
Summary: Director Danvers and Supergirl might not be sisters anymore, but maybe they can be friends.





	a pal and a cofidant

Kara hisses, experimentally probing the cut for the umpteenth time only to confirm what she already knows.

Yeah. There’s Kryptonite in there.

Off-brand Kryptonite. Kara would laugh if it didn’t hurt to do so. Ever since the aerosol Kryptonite stunt pulled by Otis and Mercy, there’s been an uptick in Green-K knock-offs. Very few have been potent enough to have any sort of discernible damage, and Kara has to admit, the look of shock on a would-be assailant’s face as she shrugs off the glowing rock is pretty satisfying.

This batch, though.

She takes a deep breath, tipping her head back against the cool brick of the semi-abandoned warehouse. She experimentally narrows her eyes, trying to engage her x-ray vision. It…works? Maybe? She’s dizzy; the image of the interior of the building across the way tilts and wavers out of focus. But that could just be the result of the pain.

She takes another deep breath and wonders if she should test something else, like strength or flight, but the prospect of falling several stories onto hard concrete is…very unappealing.

_Maybe I can…take it out…?_  She steels herself, gritting her teeth as she seeks out the offending shard.

As soon as she touches it, white hot pain shoots up her side.

_NOPEnopenope._  She cringes, tears forming at the corners of her eyes. It’s not like the Kryptonite bullet she once extracted from her arm—a single oblong object that was easy to grip and extract.

This is a weird jagged shape, lodged deep in the lower right side of her abdomen. She thinks she can probably get a decent grip on the one edge…but she might pass out before she can pull it entirely free.

And just as she wants to avoid faceplanting on concrete, she’d  _also_ like to avoid being passed out in an alleyway, with Children of Liberty and DEO Agents combing the surrounding area.

She bites back an annoyed grunt. Three weeks ago, she would’ve  _welcomed_  being found by the DEO retrieval team. Being safely escorted back to headquarters for some time under the solar lamps? To be treated by medical staff with actual, sterile  _surgical_ _tools_  to extract the Kryptonite shard? Great! Perfect! Bring it on!

_Now,_  she can’t imagine being unconscious, at the mercy of Haley and her agents, for an undisclosed amount of time. Nightmarish images of waking up in a containment cell as Haley continues her witch hunt fill her mind, strengthening her resolve to steer clear of them.

Which solves the  _one_  problem, but creates another.

What is she going to  _do?_

J'onn’s office is too far, as is CatCo. She briefly considers L-Corp, but recalls the underground lab where Sam was kept, and the same sort of uneasiness that accompanied the thoughts of the DEO resurfaces. Besides. It’s just as far as CatCo, back in the heart of the city.

She feels hot and nauseous. She doesn’t have a lot of  _time_  here…

“—sure the scene is secure, Director Danvers, and then report back to HQ.”

“…Yes ma'am.”

Kara doesn’t catch the full conversation—her ears are ringing and it’s possible that the longer the Kryptonite is lodged in her side, the more her powers are affected—but it’s enough to know that her sister is here, and  _won’t_  be traveling back with Haley.

_But she’s not your sister,_  Kara thinks, glancing down at her uniform.  _Not right now, anyway._  It’s almost enough to make Kara reconsider. To bite the bullet, so to speak, and try to fly out to J'onn’s office.

But the torn, frayed edges of the dark blue fabric—which is now closer to a deep purple—is what ultimately forces her away from the support of the brick wall, and out into the alleyway. She sways slightly, and presses a hand to the cut, not liking the pain  _or_  the unpleasant, hot stickiness on her palm.

She carefully surveys the main street, making sure to remain out of sight. There aren’t as many agents as she feared—there’s only a handful of them, eight at most, congregating near two nondescript black SUVs.

She spots Alex off to one side, talking to another agent. Her motorcycle is parked nearby.

A plan begins to form. A risky one, certainly, but far less risky than flying to L-Corp or handing herself over to Haley.

“Bag the rest of the evidence,” Alex is saying. The agent nods; she’s essentially giving him the same instructions Haley gave her, which means she’s just about ready to leave.

Kara takes a step back, and surveys the nearest building. Like most of the structures in the area, it’s brick. Flat roof, two stories.

She hastily runs the numbers in her head—she won’t be able to  _clear_ it, necessarily. Not in her current weakened, rapidly-de-powering state. But then, she doesn’t  _want_  to clear it. She just needs a better vantage point.

_This is gonna hurt,_  she sighs, gathering the last vestiges of her strength.

She jumps.

And just  _barely_  clears the roof line. She  _does_  land on her feet…and then almost immediately drops to her knees with a pained wheeze. Her side is on  _fire,_  and she’s sure she’s just buried the Kryptonite shard  _deeper_.

She hears the motorcycle rev on the street below. Panting with effort, she forces herself to the far side of the roof, and just as she thought, Alex is leaving the scene, turning down…Cypress? Mission?

It doesn’t matter—it’s a street within jumping distance.

…She hopes.

Even as the world tips dangerously to one side, and something… _pulls_ , distressingly so, in her side, Kara still takes several steps back and leaps once more, praying to Rao that she’s guessed  _mostly_  right.

She lands in the middle of the darkened street. The asphalt gives a little, because she’s misjudged the force, and resulting uneven surface forces her off balance. She almost pulls that aforementioned concrete faceplant.  

That, though, is the least of her concerns, as Alex barrels towards her on her bike.

The glare of the headlights is blinding; she’s too weak to move. The jump took every last ounce of powers and strength she had. If Alex hits her…it’s not going to be good.

She sluggishly brings up an arm to…what? Cushion the blow of a four hundred pound Ducati?

The tires screech, and the bike swerves to one side,  _perilously_  close. Kara flinches, but all she can feel is a slight back draft.

She wheezes with relief, physically sagging as the bike’s engine cuts out. Kara hears Alex’s helmet being tossed to one side, landing with a sharp  _CRACK_ on the pavement.

“What the  _hell—!”_  she starts to shout, but it tapers off as she gets closer to Kara.

Kara, who is currently on her knees and very nearly bent completely in half as her entire right side throbs. “Um. Sorry,” she says. “Didn’t mean…to get so close…”

Alex’s eyes are wide with shock and confusion. “What hap—” she starts to say, only to change her mind. “Stay here,” Alex commands, and Kara panics a little as she turns to run back to her bike and, presumably, the other agents.

“No!” Kara rasps. Alex keeps hurrying to the bike. Kara tries again, “You can't— _Director Danvers!”_

Her voice is firmer. Stronger. Alex stops. “I don’t…” Kara pauses. Partially because she’s a little breathless, and partially because she has to be careful here. She has to get Alex on her  _side_. Kara doesn’t really know what’s survived, in terms of Alex’s memories of Supergirl—she’s not sure even  _J'onn_  knows, given how deeply entrenched they were in Alex’s psyche—so it’s not like she can reliably say,  _hey, remember that time you helped me out after that brush with Kryptonite poisoning?_

It hurts to imagine Alex being ambivalent about the K-Radiation and anti-Kryptonite suit—and, more importantly, dwelling on it is unproductive.

So she thinks instead about…about the DEO, actually, and about all the irate venting Alex’s been doing, lately.

“I don’t trust Haley,” Kara says. “I need help…and I don’t trust Haley.”

She can’t see straight and she’s barely conscious,  _but_  she can see the blurry shape of Alex caught between her slumped form and the bike. She’s considering what Kara has said, and Kara knows she’s  _got her._

She’s feeling pretty smug about it. She’s never been on the ‘enemy’ side of ‘ _the enemy of my enemy…is my friend_.’ It feels kinda…badass. She smiles. Or…is she actually smiling? She can’t feel her face.

“Damn it,” she can hear Alex mutter. She’s vaguely aware of her arm being thrown over Alex’s shoulder, and being awkwardly lifted-and-or-dragged to the motorcycle…

But then she’s out.

* * *

And then she’s not, when shockingly cold water is tossed on her face.

Kara sputters awake, irritated (thanks to the water) and still in pain (presumably, thanks to the Kryptonite still in her side.)

“Don’t move.”

It’s Alex, her voice gruff and close by. Kara blinks the water from her eyes, and turns to see her sister seated on one of the bar stools in her apartment, slightly hunched, examining her injury.

“Am I…” the words scrape over Kara’s dry throat, “on—a table?” She almost says  _your_  table, but catches herself. Supergirl’s not supposed to know this is Alex’s apartment.

“I didn’t want you bleeding on my couch,” Alex tells her. And Kara has to admit…that’s fair. “I don’t have any equipment here, just basic first aid supplies.” She finally looks at Kara. Her expression is hard. “It’s going to be…messy.”

Kara gives a halting nod. She understands, but. She’s not looking forward to it.

Alex nods back—sharp and sure. She disappears from Kara’s view, and seconds later, Kara can hear the kitchen faucet running.

Kara let’s her head fall back on what is definitely Alex’s dining room table. She can feel the woven table runner, functioning as a kind of makeshift pillow.

Alex eventually reappears—she’s still in her DEO gear, but her magnet gloves have been swapped out with bright blue latex. A plastic box with a bright red cross on the side sits at the far end of the table.

“Will this work on you?” Kara turns her head to see a bottle of alcohol in Alex’s grip. She can’t read the label—everything’s going a little fuzzy again.

“Uh…” She’s certain she doesn’t have her powers, so the answer is probably yes. But as she glances down at her side, and sees her hand resting on the table, she notices the bright green glow of Kryptonite poisoning.

Is it a good idea, to mix alcohol and Green-K?

“Yeah,” she says, ultimately deciding that she’d rather risk it, than be _aware_  during what’s about to transpire. She weakly accepts the bottle, and gets a good look at the green veins snaking down the back of her hand.

Not good.

She takes a swig, and promptly coughs it up, unprepared for the burn.

Alex rolls her eyes in annoyance.

“You’re wasting a very expensive bottle of vodka,” she says. Kara squints at the label. Alex doesn’t typically  _buy_  vodka…

And then it occurs to her that  _she_  bought this for Alex. A gift for being promoted to 'Director’ several months back. 

(She’s not sure if she should feel grateful, that Alex is using it for this, or a little offended.) 

“Sorry,” she croaks, and does her best to keep it down the second time.

She does. She takes another prolonged gulp.

“Alright,” Alex grabs it before she can take a third, “that’s enough.”

“ _Sorry,”_  she says again. “Least I didn’t…waste it.”

“No,” Alex agrees, “but I needed some for this.” With very little ceremony, Alex douses Kara’s side with some of the remaining liquor.

Kara’s only  _just_  starting to feel the pleasant burn of the alcohol; the sting in her side is enough to make her clench her fists as she lets out a kind of pained grunt.

“It’s only going to get worse,” Alex warns in a flat tone. But then, she softens, just marginally, as she explains to Kara exactly what she’s going to do. Kara listens, and only manages to catch about…twenty percent?

_Thirty? Twenty-four?_ She lets her head fall back again as she considers the numbers.

She can feel Alex poking at the cut. Kara fidgets, unconsciously tensing muscles. But her leg throbs, like it’s been bruised.

“Don’t move,” Alex says sternly.

“How come…my leg hurts?” Kara’s words are starting to slur a little. Has she  _always_  been this sensitive to alcohol?

“…I had to bungee you to the back of my bike,” Alex admits under her breath. 

Kara blinks, and realizes that she never really considered how Alex managed to get her back here, on a  _motorcycle,_  while she was passed out.

Again, she’s not sure if she should be feeling grateful or insulted, but as she tries to imagine the scene, all she can think is that it’s… _very_ funny.

She laughs, only to have her breath stolen away as pain flares in her side. “I said  _don’t move.”_ Alex repeats, and Kara resolves to remain as still as possible.

_Don’t move. I can do that. I’m great at not moving…just like I’m great at stealth. Does Alex still remember that I’m really good at stealth? …Does she know anything about Krypton?_

Kara’s thoughts are a jumbled mess, and she’s not sure if she’s out of it because of the buzz or the blood loss.

“I can’t really see—it looks like—” There’s a frustrated grunt. Then the scrape of the stool against hard wood. The rumble of one of the drawers in the kitchen—the junk drawer, probably, given how much rummaging follows. The drawer closes. Alex’s footsteps approach. And then the soft click of a flashlight turning on, and more probing. “I think the shard’s intact.”

_She probably knows it blew up. Everyone knows it blew up. Does she know about the Phantom Zone?_

_Wait, wait. Does she know…does she remember Astra?_

Of course she’d have to remember Astra. Or at least… _partially_  remember that event…

But…Kara remembers Alex’s hardened stare, back in Parthas. Her claims of Kara’s invulnerability, and her denial that Kara could ever understand…could ever  _conceive_  of anything else. 

There were so many times when Kara was vulnerable. Emotionally raw, and hurting.

And Alex doesn’t remember any of that. 

Alex, who is currently saying something about pulling out a shard. Kara doesn’t care, she’s too busy thinking her frenzied, distressed thoughts. Everything she’d talked about with J'onn becomes far too  _real,_  as she stares at Alex’s ceiling; Alex, who regards her as a complete and total  _stranger_.

Kara feels a sudden tug. Her nerve endings  _seize_.

And then she’s out again.

* * *

When she awakens the second time, she’s still on the table, but Alex’s apartment is dark, and Alex is nowhere to be found.

It takes much longer to rouse herself without the aid of the cold water, but eventually, her vision steadies, and there’s a distinct soreness that runs…the entire length of her body, really. But the sharp, stabbing pain of the cut and the all-over burn of the Kryptonite are both gone.

She shifts experimentally—both to test her side, and to see if maybe Alex is asleep in bed, or on the couch.

She isn’t. Kara sluggishly attempts to reason on why that could be…did she go back to the DEO? Maybe…Kara vaguely remembers something about…Haley? Something about Haley…and then, of course, the impromptu game of  _Operation,_  wherein  _she_  was the poor schmuck under the knife.

Her temple throbs. Right. A game of  _Operation,_  with a side of very expensive, very  _potent_  vodka. She runs a hand over the ruined portion of her uniform, noting the presence of a bandage and again marvels at the fact that she can barely feel any pain. Alex did a really good job, all things considered.  

But there’s the headache to keep in mind; without the DEO solar lamps, her powers are taking their dear, sweet time coming back.

_Stupid Kryptonite,_  she thinks.  _Stupid Haley. Stupid DEO_. She wonders if she’s  _maybe_  a little hungover.

Long minutes tick by, and still, no Alex. Kara drums her fingers against the table top. She’s not at one-hundred percent, but she has  _just_  enough energy to be a little restless.

Maybe she should just…leave.

She turns the thought over in her mind. That feels… _wrong_ , somehow.

_Wrong to Kara Danvers,_  she reminds herself.  _But maybe Supergirl should take off, before Director Danvers comes back and grouches at her some more_.

Slowly,  _slowly,_ Kara leverages herself into a sitting position, with the intent of slipping out of one of the windows, and flying back to her apartment. Slowly,  _slowly,_ she turns herself around, swinging her legs off the table.

So far, so good.

…Except for the nausea that wells up in the back of her throat.

_Not a big deal,_  she decides, as that sort of thing usually passes.

…But not this time, apparently.

Which sends her scrambling to the kitchen, ignoring as her side screams at her to stop. Mercifully, she reaches the garbage can in time, emptying the meager contents of her stomach into the bin.

_Ugh. Gross._

She braces her hands on the sink, leaning over it, waiting for the feeling to pass.

And, of course, it’s in the midst of this…delightful display…that Alex should suddenly reappear.

“How did you know where the trash was?”

Kara looks up, startled. She hadn’t heard the front door. Alex is glaring at her, apparently back from an early morning jog, if the windbreaker and Nikes are anything to go by.

“…X-Ray vision,” Kara lies.

“So you’ve recovered your powers?” Alex counters, looking skeptical.

She briefly considers sticking to her story, but worries that Alex might call her bluff. Ask her to…crush a brick with her bare hands, or something.

She ducks her head sheepishly. “…It was a lucky guess, actually.” It’s still a lie, but it’s one that Alex appears ready to accept.

“I guess I’m grateful you found it,” she mutters. “…But get out of my kitchen.”

“…Right. Sorry,” Kara hobbles back to the table, dropping into one of the chairs—it seems like a closer, easier alternative to the table itself. “Um.” Kara doesn’t know what to say; should she apologize again for trespassing in the kitchen? Ask how the jog went? “I’m…guessing…you got all the Kryptonite out?”

Alex nods, but says nothing else, refusing to elaborate.

Kara offers a flustered follow up, unprepared for the nonverbal response. “I…um,” she pauses. “…thank you.” It’s the first thing that comes to mind, and it sparks a reaction in Alex. She raises her eyebrows. In…surprise? “Really. I didn’t…” she breathes out sharply through her nose, “…I didn’t have anywhere else to go.”

Alex narrows her eyes once more and crosses her arms, physically closing herself off from the gratitude. Kara bites back a disappointed sigh.

But after a moment, Alex shifts somewhat uncomfortably, looking at the floor. Her mouth pulls to one side, in a manner Kara immediately recognizes as 'begrudging acceptance.’

“…Well I sincerely doubt that, but. You’re welcome.”

It should be sad, that that’s the nicest thing her sister has said to her alter ego in  _weeks_ , but Kara’s too busy  _beaming_  at this development.

There’s a lengthy, awkward pause that follows. And Kara doesn’t immediately catch it, as she feels fairly comfortable, seated there, in Alex’s apartment, smiling like a goofball.

Alex, though, is tense, looking at her somewhat expectantly. And it’s only  _then_  that Kara realizes that while it’s not a problem for Kara Danvers to hang out here, Supergirl has very much overstayed her welcome.

“Oh, I—” Kara clears her throat. “I guess I should go.” She stands to leave, when a fresh wave of nausea hits.

And she must look flushed, as she desperately glances as Alex, because she’s already rolling her eyes, waving her towards the kitchen.

“Go,  _go,”_  she insists, and Kara rushes back to the garbage can. “Didn’t realize Supergirl was such a  _lightweight,”_ she grumbles, just loud enough for Kara to hear between gags.

It’s not as bad, this time around, because there’s not much left to heave up. Once she’s finished, she unsteadily makes her way back to the chair, and is surprised to see that Alex has moved it closer to the window, and that her sister is in the process of opening the blinds.

“Sit,” she says simply. When Kara stares at her blankly, she huffs. “You need sunlight to recover, right? So.” She gestures towards the now-open window. “Sunlight.”

“…Thanks,” Kara says, and does as she’s told. “I’ll…I won’t stay long, I promise. Just a few minutes to ease the nausea—”

“No, don't—Just. Sit there.” Alex holds up a hand, making a kind of ’ _stay put’_  gesture. “I don’t want any more  _messes_  to clean up, you already  _ruined_  one of my tablecloths.”

“Sorry.”

“And stop  _apologizing_ , God.”

“Sor—” Alex shoots her a mercurial glare, “—okay.”

Alex sighs, and runs a hand through her short hair, before moving towards her bedroom. Kara allows her attention to drift a little, not wanting to make this any weirder for Alex, even though this totally  _wouldn’t_  be weird under normal, pre-memory-wipe circumstances.

Kara silently curses Haley, eyes drifting shut as she relaxes under the soft, warm light of the early morning sunrise.

She can distantly hear Alex opening and closing drawers, cabinets. Probably getting ready for the rest of the day.

She drifts off a bit, after that, only to be shaken out of sleep by her boot vibrating.

“ _Wzzzt?”_  She pitches forward. “Wzz…oh.” It’s her phone.

She starts to reach for it, wondering who would be calling her at this hour. She turns to look at the clock on Alex’s mantle, startled to see Alex standing in the living room area. She’s turned away, facing the TV, one hand on her hip, the other holding her phone.

_Huh, that’s funny, that she’s on the phone too—_

Kara freezes, eyeing the buzzing phone in her boot.

Alex is still turned away; she carefully extracts the device and checks the glowing screen.

_ALEX CALLING_.

Kara’s just about to shove the phone back into her boot when Alex turns.

Kara hurriedly mimes pressing the 'answer’ button, nearly dropping the phone in the process.

“Uh…hello? I mean. Ah. Hello.” She makes sure to hit the 'send to voicemail’ option as discreetly as possible. “…I, uh. Right. Yes. I’ll be there…shortly. To do that…thing, we agreed to…do.”

She pretends to end the call, watching as Alex does the same.

“That was, uh, a…colleague,” Kara feels like she has to really sell the ruse. “Another…superhero. We have, ah…a thing? To do, so. I…I should really go.”

Alex is clearly both unimpressed and unconvinced by the rambling, but doesn’t care enough to question her further. She just nods.

“Right,” she says, all business. “Just. If your powers don’t come back right away, you’ll need to change the bandage. And clean it—obviously, we were short on supplies, so it’s not my  _best_  work…”

“I will. Promise,” Kara says with a smile and a nod. “Thanks again, Director Danvers.”

She moves past Alex, headed for the front door. As she does so, her sister sighs.

“I think…in light of the whole…late night, emergency surgery thing…” she says, “you can call me Alex.”

Kara has one hand on the doorknob, but she pauses, and looks back over her shoulder.

“…Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Alex says, but hurriedly adds, “In the field, though, it’s still ‘Director Danvers.’”

Kara looks at the living room rug. “So…does this mean we’re friends now?”

Alex rolls her eyes again.

“Don’t push it,” she says. “We’re friend _ly_. Not friends.”

Kara narrows her eyes dramatically.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Because…I mean. I’m pretty sure I remember some mutual bonding over our hatred of Haley.”

“There was no bonding, you were drunk.”

“We could make a dartboard with her photo!”

“You’re feeling better, obviously. You can  _leave_ , now.”

“Seriously. I’ll pay for the darts.”

And, Kara  _knows_  Alex is fighting it, but she can see her smile, even as she puts her hands on her hips and attempts to be  _mean._

“Who knew Supergirl was such a giant  _dork,_  geez,” she exclaims, nudging Kara aside and grabbing the door. “You’re worse than my sister.”

At which point, Kara is politely, if also somewhat physically, kicked out of Alex’s apartment, but she can hear her sister still snickering behind the door.

Kara smiles as she makes her way to the stairwell at the end of the hall.

“Oh yeah. Definitely friends.”

**Author's Note:**

> \- I think it’s clear I know nothing about emergency medicine OR alcohol. In spite of being related to individuals who are very familiar with both.  
> \- Title from Andrew Gold’s “Thank You for Being a Friend”


End file.
